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101 Word Flash Fiction Story - The Painting



Gareth R.T. Owen

They told me she died of natural causes, but I don’t believe them. Truth is, I can’t say for sure what happened to her. But I know it has something to do with the painting. The abstract piece was one of the few decorations she owned. Most would argue it’s nothing more than scribbled lines, a mess of colors transported from the artist’s brain to the canvas. But when I stare at it, I see what it really is: pure evil. A conscious energy that feeds off pain. I’ve felt it. And now she’s dead, and the painting belongs to me.

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